After I picked my jaw up off the ground, I just turned around and walked away. I mean, how do you even respond to “high five for friendship”? And that was it.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?” she asked, using my question against me.
“About being high fived? I don’t think I’ll ever feel okay being high fived. He has forever ruined high fiving for me,” I said, shaking my head.
“Should we ban high fiving from our friendship, then?” she asked with a giggle, and I rolled my eyes.
“Yesterday, Nick and his new whatever walked by just as Jake high fived me over the vending machine having Snickers. I don’t think Nick saw the humor in it as much as we did.”
“I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it, but if he—okay, we—ever get annoying, let me know,” she said seriously, and I appreciated the sentiment. Because though I don’t mind joking about the high fiving, the breakup was still fresh, a wound exposed. “Because, seriously, after finding out that he cheated on you? I wanted to murder him.”
“For some reason, I don’t doubt you actually would follow through with that threat,” I joked. “Then again, I wanted to, too.”
The breakup was hard enough, but learning about the cheating made everything worse. I hated feeling so . . . rejected. Because honestly—it sucked. The entire thing sucked. But as long as I didn’t let myself remember that, as long as I didn’t remind myself every moment that not only was I dumped, but cheated on as well, I was okay. I was able to believe that one day I’d find a guy who would never break up with me using a high five. I was able to believe that maybe the next guy would be better. I had to believe that, because after living through the Nick situation, and seeing what Meg went through with Jake, I was losing hope. I wasn’t in love with Nick or anything, but he was my first boyfriend, after all.
“He is going to be there tonight, right?” Meg asked. “Because I can, you know, murder him,” she added, giving me an evil glare. I laughed at her offer.
“No need to break out the weapons. And I don’t know—I’m assuming so,” I said, feeling my nerves acting up. “But . . . yeah . . . tonight should be fun. And you don’t have to worry about me,” I told Meg. “I’m over it. I just . . . I honestly don’t care anymore.” I made my point by emphatically zipping up my makeup bag. Nick might have been around, but he wasn’t part of my plan for the night. I was going to go out. I was going to have fun. I was ready to avoid all distractions of the male variety. I wanted excitement, not drama, and Meg was usually good at leading me to both.
“Good. You’ll finally get to meet Matt, too.”
“The Pepperpots’ new bassist? It sucks that they lost their old one.”
“Yeah, but apparently Matt’s much better. Jake met him at a show and said he was phenomenal. Plus, he’s hot.”
“Jake said he was hot?” I asked, jokingly.
“Ha. Ha. I think you’ll like him. He has black-rimmed glasses.”
“That is a requirement,” I said with a smile. It wasn’t, but she knew I had a thing for the dorky look. Nick did not embody that look, so I really should have known it was doomed from the start. Nick was more of a Jake, with that leading-man rock-star look. It might have worked for Meg, but not me.
“That reminds me.” Meg dropped her hairbrush and ran back to her bedroom. She returned with a jewel-toned purple bag, with silver tissue paper piled on top. “Open.”
“What’s this?” I asked, tentatively taking the bag.
“It’s a surprise,” Meg said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Should I be worried? I mean, remember the goldfish?”
“I’m never living that down, am I?” she groaned, and I grinned, remembering the present she got me after my dog died. Not the best present, seeing as how the goldfish died three days later, but incredibly thoughtful nonetheless. “Okay, what’s the best way to get revenge on an ex?” she asked, waiting for my reaction.
I shrugged, playing with the tissue paper and wondering what her almighty plan was. “Firing squad? Negative rumor spread throughout school? Millions of spam emails?”
She sighed in response. “Look amazing.”
“Right.” I clearly hadn’t learned all Meg had to teach in the fashion department yet. It was my favorite class—there was never any homework and the subject matter was actually interesting. And, sometimes, there were gifts involved.
I tilted my head and smiled, digging my hand into the bag. Inside, I felt a soft, slippery fabric. I pulled out a stunning deep green top that matched my eyes.
“Meg!” I grabbed her, hugging her close. She knew me better than I knew myself sometimes. I never would have thought to get something like that, but seeing it, just holding it, made me feel braver, and more ready to face the night.
Through everything, we’d been there for each other. She went through every awkward phase of mine, and I hers. She knew I hated being the center of attention, and would often shy away from making decisions. I knew that if I took down the Clash poster on her bedroom wall, I’d find the Jack Skellington one from her goth phase at fifteen, and then a Barbie one from her pink phase at six. Meg was always really good at that—covering her past with another layer. Sometimes I didn’t know which layer would stick, and sometimes I didn’t know which layer was showing, but it didn’t matter. I always figured it out eventually.
“To tonight!” she said, lifting her pinkie up.
“Tonight,” I said, shaking my head and locking pinkies with her—a gesture we started long ago—her snow-white skin atop my olive. We always did it to remind each other that we were there, that we’d never let go no matter the problem or hurdle.
“But what are you going to wear?” I asked, staring once again at my new shirt. It was beautiful.
“Um, did you not see the other bag in my bedroom?” I looked out to see a matching bag lying on her bed. Our night was packed away inside it, waiting to get out.
Meg’s parents let us borrow their silver Volkswagen Passat for the night. As Meg turned the key, I flipped through her iPod, finding the best songs to soundtrack our night. Most of them were older punk songs from the ’90s, ones Jake downloaded for her; she never got rid of them. He could break her heart, but he couldn’t take away her music. The first song I chose was fast, upbeat, and one we knew by heart. One that didn’t have a connection to Jake or Nick, so we were able to scream out the lyrics and let the night steal our voices without thinking of anything but what lay ahead. Our giggles echoed through the streets, informing each house that we were still awake and ready to take on anything. It was easy singing along with Meg—neither of us had the best voices, but that never stopped us from being rock stars in the comfort (and secrecy) of the car. I loved it.
After a few songs like that, I slowed it down so we still had voices left for the party.
“I’m excited to see the band play tonight, after their gigless stint without a bassist,” I admitted.
“Me too, actually.” Meg stared straight ahead and slowly approached a red light. “He’s got a new girl, you know.”
“Who?” I turned and faced her, and I could have sworn her eyes were glassy with tears. “Jake? Really?”
“Some girl he met at a club. Of course.” Her eyebrows took a quick decline, searching for answers she wouldn’t find. Within a second, as if the mood never crossed her face, her steady gaze was back. She was such a master of disguise, I often had to dig through her layers to prod out the one that needed comforting.
“Whatever. She’s not you, that’s for sure,” I said, ready to reassure her again.
“Heh, yeah. I just don’t . . . want to see them together. You know? It’s like you and Nick. It’s okay that there’s another girl. Just . . . don’t rub it in our faces.”
“I honestly don’t think Jake’s like that,” I answered, talking over the music. As if on cue, a new song came on, a slow instrumental piece from a movie soundtrack. Perfect. “He’s an ass, but he’s not showy like that. The breakup hurt
him, too.”
“Yeah, I guess. Nick, on the other hand—”
“Is just an ass. So, we have that to look forward to,” I pointed out, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling coming over me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh, it was my fault. I trusted him.”
“You know, it never felt like the right time to tell you. But we all kind of hated him.”
“You did?” I asked, whipping my head toward her. “I knew you guys didn’t love him, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“He was just . . . awful. I mean, he was nice to you sometimes, but he didn’t really care. He was all show, no substance.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked, a bit offended and hurt. “I thought we told each other everything.”
“I know, but you were just so . . . happy.” She looked over at me. “I was going to after the breakup, but then you found out about the other girl and . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t want to bring it up. You were . . . you again. And I knew it would hurt you if I told you.”
“So why tell me now?” I asked, still taken aback and feeling slightly betrayed.
“Because I know it’s over. I know there isn’t a part of you still thinking about him.” She paused. “And if I hate your next guy, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
“I better be,” I said, remembering back to how they didn’t hang out with Nick, really, they didn’t involve him. Maybe I should have known they hated him. Then again, maybe I should have known about him, too. “I mean, you’re right, I don’t want him back or anything, but I wish you’d told me earlier, I guess.”
“If I did, would it have changed anything?”
“Maybe . . . I don’t know.” I was used to her always revealing her position. Not knowing something she thought made me feel kind of alone. “I like your opinions.”
“And I like you being happy,” she explained. “I didn’t want to kill that, you know?”
“Yeah, okay.” I relented because even if she had told me, I’m not sure if I would have listened. “Next time?” I asked anyway, pressing on.
“Next time.” She nodded. We didn’t apologize really, not like normal people. We just kept going. It was more natural that way. We drove the rest of the way letting the music do the talking. For us, words weren’t always necessary.
The party was at our friend Ross’s house, which was large, had two floors, and was located in a secluded part of town. Because of the location, he could have bands play without the neighbors complaining. Cars lined the sidewalks, parked crookedly all the way down the street. While we drove through the neighborhood, nobody was out—the streets were still and asleep. But at the house, it was as if everyone in town was already there, waiting for us.
“All good?” Meg asked, standing beside her car. Any trace of emotion from earlier had been wiped from her face. I gave her the once-over and nodded. We were ready. It was my favorite part of the night—when the evening’s events were still unknown and unpredictable. It was the sense of possibility that I loved, the idea that anything could happen next.
We walked to the front door, only to find a wall of people blocking it. Meg gave her signature half smile—the one that says she’s better than this—and pushed through, owning the party with a single look. I followed behind, feeling taller than I had earlier. Meg had the power to transmit her self-esteem onto me sometimes, and I liked it. People were everywhere, broken into groups small and large, all talking over one another.
“Okay, what now?” Meg asked as we stood in the entranceway.
“Kitchen?” I suggested, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. I’d been to Ross’s house before and knew the ins and outs. The kitchen was brighter than the rest of the house, and still full of people. There must have been at least twenty in the small space. Most were gathered around the keg in the corner, pumping out foamy beer. I could hear the band in the other room, performing a cover of some pop song I kind of recognized, really screaming out the lyrics. Not great, but not bad either. At least we weren’t late.
Meg grabbed two cups and went to get us drinks.
“Hey!” a shout came out from across the room. I knew that voice. I turned around and saw Barker pushing his way into the room. He was wearing an Oingo Boingo thrift store T-shirt and brown corduroy pants. He was half indie, half professor, and it somehow worked on him.
“Hey Barker,” I said, waving. “We’re not too late, right?”
“Nope, these guys just started, so there’s time before we go on. Hey, I want you to meet Matt, the new bassist.”
Barker turned around and grabbed the guy behind him. I self-consciously looked down to check my shirt, and as I adjusted it, I saw his red Converse sneakers. They were similar to ones I owned, which I found funny. He had on dark blue jeans that looked worn, but not in that purposeful way that was sold in stores, but more in the way that meant he actually wore them a lot. His black T-shirt was a bit tight, and featured a band I’d never heard of before. And then I saw his face, with his dark brown messy hair and black-rimmed glasses. He was tall, taller than me, and his face lit up when our eyes met. Okay, Meg was right, he was cute.
“Matt, this is Ella. El, Matt.”
“Hey,” he said, smiling. It was a cute smile, crooked and shy.
“Hi,” I said back, officially excited to start the night.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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NOW
8:30 P.M.
“Hi,” I manage to respond, still staring; because never in a million years would I have thought Matt would be here, at Evan’s party. Never would I have thought he’d come back. When he left, he took away everything, and every day since then I feel that gaping hole, every day I remember what’s missing. I can feel it now, growing larger as my heart races and my hands shake.
“Hey? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Meg says, eyeing him.
“You guys know each other?” Anthony asks, face darting from mine to Meg’s to Matt’s and then back around again.
“Hey Meg,” Matt says, running his hand through his hair, avoiding her glare. “How’re you? How’s Jake? Is he . . . here?”
“No, he’s not here. And you’d know how he was if you ever called him. Or her,” she says, nodding toward me and squeezing my hand at the same time. Her words, though true, are piercing me, digging deep into my body. I don’t know what to say, so instead I put my free arm around my torso, trying to keep myself together in case I really do rip apart at the seams and fall to the ground where Matt can proceed to step on me and finish what he started.
“I think I missed something,” Anthony interjects, still bopping his head, trying to keep up. The hopeful look washes away as he realizes his plans for Meg may not materialize after all. And I stay quiet in the middle of it all because I might just vomit.
“I think he missed something,” Meg answers, pointing to Matt. “Like, half a year of somethings. How could you just leave like that?” she continues, spite in her voice.
“Meg, please,” I whisper, squeezing her hand. And as quickly as she got fired up, she calms down and shakes her head. It’s my fight, not hers. “You know what, forget it. Come on, Anthony, let’s get out of here.” As her hand slips out of mine, my heart races faster, louder. She doesn’t have to fight my fights, but she also doesn’t need to leave me out here alone. I don’t know if I can do this. “You need to talk to her,” she says back to Matt. “She deserves answers. And Jake does, too.”
I watch as she leaves in a huff with Anthony, his arm slowly trying to drape over her shoulders. She shrugs him off; he should know by her look that she doesn’t want to be touched. Never touch lit dynamite.
I turn back to Matt, scared. I’m not ready to do this, to simply talk to him after six months apart. He’s staring at his untied laces, not meeting my eyes. His shoelaces were always untied, and the m
emory hits me with a force I wasn’t expecting. Him always sighing when I pointed it out. Me always laughing at the repeated act, and loving him even more for the simple imperfection.
He drops down to tie them, taking his time, and brushing them off when he’s done. And inside I want to cry because he’s here. And him being here proved it all happened. I want to touch him, and make sure this is all real and tangible. I close my eyes and feel every emotion I tried to hide when I was being braver, stronger, moving on. The pain. The loneliness. The shame.
“Um. How’re you?” he asks, standing back up.
How am I? I almost laugh at the question, because I’m a complete wreck. My heart isn’t sure if it should soar or crash and my body is both pushing me closer to him and pulling me away. And I don’t know what’s right, and I need Meg here to tell me. But I can’t say all that, so instead I open my eyes and say, “Fine, you?”
“Okay,” he answers, putting his hands in his pockets and he’s still so cute. It kills me seeing him there, so nonchalantly. So there. He doesn’t move from where he is, staying a few feet away, still behind the bar where Anthony had been. “This is incredibly awkward, isn’t it?”
My body loosens and a brief calm washes over me. I smile slightly, agreeing. He’s always had a way of pointing out the obvious when it needs to be said. I take a moment to look at him. He’s different, but not really. His glasses are new; thin frames instead of his black-rimmed plastic ones. They make him look older, more mature. But behind them, his eyes are still the same. They’re the eyes I fell for. Green with hazel flecks. It’s dark, but I can still see them flash in the tiki lights. The familiarity pushes me to ask him the first thing I can think of.
“What are you doing here?”
“I go here now. To UCF. I just moved back,” he says, finally meeting my eyes. It’s as if he wants his look to convey an inner meaning his words won’t allow. And when my heart flips, stupidly I want his look to say I’m back for you, this whole year was a mess let’s run away together and never look back. But I can’t want that. I can’t allow myself to get hopeful again, not after what he did. I hated him once—I have to remember that, and not the way his lips felt on mine.
The Night We Said Yes Page 2